I'm waiting on the a.c. repairmen to arrive somewhere between 8:00 and 9:00. They are going to replace my plenum. Sounds medical, doesn't it? It is going to cost me a lot of money though it shouldn't. It will take them quite some time because the a.c. has to be off for a couple hours so the mastic can dry. Are you still with me? It is an inconvenience at best and a robbery all around.
But what can a fellow like me do?
This is one of the scans I have been making. That's Gregory Hemingway, Ernest's son, in Paris, 1994. But the story will have to wait. Yesterday was a roller coaster and I didn't work on the project at all.
It started with a late morning trip to the exercise course. And I got high. I mean really high. I can't run the course as I have for many years, so I walk it and exercise at the stations. I've only recently begun doing this again with any regularity, and I was psyched that my strength and endurance keep improving. Then I walk up and down the pedestrian overpass that spans the highway below. Yesterday, however, I thought I would try to do a bit of an old man shuffle for part of it. There are three light posts on the ramp separated by what I approximated to be twenty yards. I thought to run from one of them to the other. It felt as though I would tear a hamstring on the first "run." I mean, my friends, they are very short and tight. But my knee felt ok. So I did another. And another. And I was sweating and breathing and, dare I say, having fun. And when I was done, I was high. I mean I was really high, the old "runner's high" one gets from endorphins flowing. I had "run" (shuffled) only about eighty yards, but having only limped for the past year, it was like I'd gone for miles. My whole being felt stronger. Oh, yea, baby. . . I was coming back.
Gatorade, a hot Epsom soak, and a shower. And a nap. I had told my mother I was bringing dinner that night, but when I woke up, I hadn't started it and now it was going to be rushed. It would be close. Into the InstaPot I put six chicken breasts, a bag of mixed beans, then carrots, celery, potatoes, and onions, all chopped. Salt, pepper, red pepper, and then 3/4s of a bottle of cheap wine I had bought for the purpose. A little water. I was still feeling good. I don't think I was limping as much.
It was after five when I got everything to my mother's. I poured a glass of wine and my mother asked if I wanted to sit out for a bit before we ate. She wanted to talk. She's not been feeling well, and I can tell that she is struggling. It is rotten. There is absolutely nothing I can do. She wanted to talk about her will. And she wanted to know about setting up a trust. I am going to need to find an attorney for this. I guess I should set up one for myself, too. Needless to say, I was losing my high, endorphins replaced by something else.
The dinner was good, but my mother ate little. By the time I got home, I just wanted a drink. The sun was setting. I took a whiskey to the deck.
I got an email. The girl who won't ask me out. It was an obituary. I couldn't figure it out for a minute. I didn't know this guy. Oh, wait. . . it was her father who has been in the hospital with cancer. Oh, shit. I needed to write something sympathetic. Incredibly, Sky was with her father over the weekend making sure she understood his will.
Shit and death, it seems, are everywhere.
* * *
The a.c. guys are here now. Two of them. Two trucks. There are already problems. They told me to call the company. I have, but had to leave a message. It's going to be a dogfight, I'm afraid. They used to be a great company, but like so many others, they have had to beg to get people to work. Nobody wants to work anymore, just be a TikTok influencer. After everyone stayed home during Covid, though, who can blame them? Not even my old pals at the factory are happy anymore.
Selavy. Life sucks and then you die. In between. . . .
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